


Performance Anxiety

by Mysecretfanmoments



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: First Time, Kenma as a third year, Kenma topping, Kuroo's POV, M/M, Porn Watching, canonverse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-22 15:03:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4839860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mysecretfanmoments/pseuds/Mysecretfanmoments
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kuroo lets his perfectionism get in the way of exploring the more physical side of his relationship with Kenma; Kenma decides to take matters into his own hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Performance Anxiety

There are a few things people can’t tell about Tetsurou at first glance. The first—always—is that he didn’t do his hair like this on purpose. The second is that he’s great at math and would probably help you with your statistics homework if you asked. The third—and this is the most closely-guarded secret—is that he’s a sap.

It’s not that he believes in grand romantic gestures or anything like that; airport scenes in movies seem impractical, and he’s never planning on sending anyone a hundred roses—but he does believe love can conquer pretty much anything if you channel it the right way, mold it into the right shape for it to bloom. In high school, the shape love took was distance—specifically, the comfortable distance he left between himself and Kenma. He knew Kenma didn’t want him to close that distance, and so he didn’t. For two and a half years, Tetsurou had been comfortably content with their friendship, unhurried in his feelings, sure that he and Kenma would stick together no matter what happened regardless of what form their relationship took.

The approach of graduation made that certainty erode, and as the rock foundation beneath Tetsurou morphed to sand he found himself grasping for a lifeline—some sort of promise from Kenma that yes, regardless of _how_ , they’d stay together. And to seek that promise he’d have to know where he stood, what he could ask for, what he couldn’t. He wanted to know what to expect.

When it came to Kenma’s view on romance and sex, Tetsurou only knew one thing: that in all their years of knowing each other, Kenma had never expressed an interest in anyone.

Could it be that he never would?

Driven by his own impatience and insecurity, Tetsurou turned to research before broaching the subject. He went online and spent the next five hours researching patterns of behavior, sexualities, types of relationships he might not have heard about. That night when he was hanging out with Kenma in his room, he showed Kenma that research, plopping a wad of printed paper on the folding table in front of Kenma before Kenma had a chance to pull out his homework.

Kenma blinked down at the pages, then up at Tetsurou, who tried not to look as nervous as he felt.

“What is this?” Kenma asked.

“Research,” Tetsurou said. He sat down opposite Kenma, drew up his legs and folded his arms around them. “I know you’ve never been interested in anyone. I just thought we should talk about it.”

Kenma leafed through the pages—information about asexuality, aromanticism, types of relationships that didn’t revolve around sex or romance, anything Tetsurou had seen that looked like it might appeal to Kenma. Once he’d leafed through it, Kenma put the stack aside.

Awkward silence descended.

“What do you think?” Tetsurou asked, dry-mouthed. Was the information overkill? Was it rude to look something up on a friend’s behalf?

“What am I supposed to think?”

“Do you… identify with any of it?”

Kenma inclined his head. “This is about me?”

“Who else would it be about?”

Kenma’s gaze was very neutral, and suddenly Tetsurou realized there were two people in this room. Kenma—and him.

“Oh! No, it’s not… I’ve dated. You know I’ve dated.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Kenma said. “It says right here.”

He pointed to a paragraph some way through the stack. Tetsurou flushed.

“Okay,” he said. “Well, I brought it so you could read it. Not for myself.”

“Kuro…”

Tetsurou swallowed at the surge of _something_ in his stomach. The small way Kenma said his name could steal his breath some days—as if his own name was a logical extension of Kenma, something that simply gusted out of him when he exhaled. Tetsurou didn’t want to lose that closeness, but here he was, putting it at risk by bringing these things into the open.

“I’m not…” Kenma sighed. He met Tetsurou’s gaze. “I’m not any of these things, or if I am it’s one of the sub-groups. I’ve felt attraction before.”

Tetsurou’s body seized. _I’ve felt attraction before_. Somehow, it sounded like a death sentence in his ears. Kenma not being attracted to him was one thing; Kenma being attracted to someone else was another.

 _You’re almost an adult_ , Tetsurou told himself. _You can handle this like one_. He set his shoulders. “Oh?” he said, managing a smile. “You didn’t tell me.”

“It wasn’t important.”

He wondered if it would be weird for him to crawl onto the bed and lie there for a while.

Kenma twitched at his hair, laid his hands flat on the table. “So do we still need to talk about it?”

Tetsurou tried to swallow; the Sahara had taken up residence in his mouth. He could barely imagine speaking, but he had to. “No,” he managed. “Unless you want to.”

“Depends on why you brought it up.”

Tetsurou sighed, trying to relax his shoulder muscles through force of will. So Kenma had liked someone—so what? It was probably Karasuno’s shortie; Kenma always responded to him differently. The thought made Tetsurou’s entire body ache, but jealousy was a petty emotion; he refused to feel it.

“I just thought since I’m graduating it might be good,” he said. “For us to define things. I thought if you didn’t like anyone, maybe you…”

He trailed off. This was stupid. He’d been stupid. What had he wanted? To force Kenma into some sort of commitment with him before he left for university? That was insulting.

“Yes?” Kenma said. His mouth was slightly open, his body leaning unconsciously forward, hinged at his folded legs. For the first time in this entire conversation, he looked intent.

Tetsurou ran his hands through his hair, let out a sigh to calm his nerves—a short, sharp thing. Then he said: “Maybe you’d want to be in some sort of relationship with me.”

Some silences were empty; the one that followed his statement was full. Kenma folded his hands in his lap.

“This is how you were going to ask me out?” Kenma sounded… disappointed.

In hindsight, it _was_ the crappiest confession Tetsurou had ever heard. “Sorry.”

“You like me?”

“I love you. All the time. You know that, don’t you?”

Kenma shook his head. “I don’t mean it like that, I mean… you have feelings for me? Those types of feelings?”

“Yes. You thought I _didn’t_?”

Kenma covered his face with his hands, his shoulders jerking. He was laughing, Tetsurou realized, his stomach twisting. Kenma wasn’t cruel enough to laugh at his hopeless feelings, was he? He could tease, but—

“I can’t believe how stupid we’ve been,” Kenma said at last, uncovering his face. It was red from laughter.

Tetsurou wished he was in on the joke. “Enlighten me.”

“You’re the one I’ve had feelings for,” Kenma said. He said it like it was no secret—like it could have come up in conversation a hundred times before if Tetsurou had only thought to ask. “And I thought I was special to you, but a kind of special that was… separate from that. Because you never made a move.”

The warmth that spread through Tetsurou was sweet, heady. He sat perfectly still, his arms still wrapped around his legs. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Kenma said, fidgeting, his gaze dropping from Tetsurou’s.

“Does that mean…”

Kenma looked up. “Yes?”

Tetsurou cleared his throat. He could feel the warmth in his cheeks and knew he looked totally uncool, but then, he’d looked uncool in front of Kenma a hundred times before. A thousand. “Can we go out?”

Kenma rubbed his cheek. He was fidgety today, the same kind of fidgety he got before some class activity he dreaded, but Tetsurou hoped it was nervousness and not reluctance.

“It’ll be weird,” Kenma said. “It’s already weird.”

It _was_ already weird, but mostly because Tetsurou had transcended whatever plane of existence he was on before and landed on one where Kenma liked him back. It was pure bliss. “That’s okay,” he said. “As long as it’s okay with you?”

Kenma nodded—and it _was_ okay. Better than okay, in fact.

 

* * *

  

The awkward start had been the beginning of a beautiful thing. No: a transcendent thing. A glorious thing. By graduation, all Tetsurou’s friends were sick of hearing about it, which only made him happier. Yaku groaned. Kai plugged his ears. Taketora yelled obscenities. Bokuto was the only person who seemed immune to Tetsurou’s obnoxious gloating, but that probably said more about Bokuto than it did about anything else. 

It wasn’t like everything was perfect, but things were _good_. _Are_ good, still, even now that he’s in university and Kenma’s still in high school. Although, well… even Tetsurou can admit there are hitches.

Such as the fact that they’ve never… well.

They’ve never had _that_ kind of sex. But it’s not like that kind of sex is the only form of intimacy, and it’s fine this way. Better than fine. At least, he thinks so. He’s starting to feel Kenma might disagree though. There’s something about Kenma’s shifting hips and occasional sighs that signal impatience and a slight—very slight—sense of dissatisfaction. Maybe.

"Kuro..."

They’re in Tetsurou’s dorm bedroom, his roommate gone for the night. They sit entangled on his mattress, Tetsurou’s mouth on Kenma’s neck. The soft _Kuro_ is merely an exhalation; Kenma sighs his name all the time like that, but it still hasn't lost its effect. Tetsurou feels the back of his neck go hot, his hands clammy. He pauses his attentions on Kenma's neck. "Yes?" he asks, pressing kisses along Kenma’s jaw. His tone says _Is there anything else I can do for you?_

The let-me-do-things-for-you tone is nothing new, and Kenma doesn’t respond to it the way others have in the past. That tone existed between them long before romance and sex, long before Tetsurou’s feelings for Kenma were anything other than friendly affection. He likes to tease Kenma—but he'd also drop everything in the middle of the night just to rush over and be there if needed.

"Let me," Kenma says, and suddenly it's Kenma's head dropping, Kenma kissing along Tetsurou's shoulders. Tetsurou's hands move to grab Kenma's shirt, holding him up.

"Not yet."

"Not yet?" Kenma says, and there's exasperation in his voice. "You do it for me all the time."

"Yes, but I _like_ doing it."

"I _might_ like doing it. How will I know if I don't try?"

"This isn't some new ice cream flavor. It's my dick in your mouth."

Kenma's head inclines. "You're really insecure sometimes, you know. You don’t want to let me give you oral, you don’t want to do an—"

Tetsurou places a hand over Kenma's face. "Am not," he says. _Only with you_ , he thinks.

"This is really mature," Kenma says, though he makes no move to remove Tetsurou's hand. A moment later Tetsurou feels the wet press of Kenma's tongue against his palm—a child’s trick. As if that would make him let go; since when has he been grossed out by Kenma licking him? If anything, it's a reason to keep the hand there.

"Wow, thank you," he says to prove it. "I haven't washed this hand since last week. It's so nice of you to lick it clean. You take the cat thing very seriously."

"Nekoma forever," Kenma says in a neutral voice that could be ironic or serious. He grabs Tetsurou's wrist and moves the hand, but instead of tossing it aside he begins to lick it—and then he places one long finger in his mouth, swirls his tongue around it.

Tetsurou’s whole body heats in response.

"I didn't mean it," Tetsurou says faintly. "My hands are clean."

 _Duh_ , Kenma's face says. He's still sucking. He learned this from one of his porn games, Tetsurou is ninety percent sure. Why had he ever gotten Kenma a porn game as a joke? It made him too powerful.

 _That was before you thought he'd ever be into you_ , Tetsurou reminds himself. It had just amused him, the thought of Kenma wrinkling his nose at a smutty dating sim. It wasn't supposed to become a beloved genre of Kenma’s, but—fortunately or unfortunately—it did.

Kenma stops sucking on his finger, cocks his head. "Well?"

 _Well?_ Tetsurou has to dig deep to remember what Kenma is asking about, but when he does his stomach feels funny. _Let me_ , Kenma had said, but Kenma is just curious. There is no way he actually wants to give Tetsurou a blowjob, and Tetsurou would die of embarrassment if Kenma made fun of any aspect of him down there. Handjobs are a lot less up-close-and-personal.

He wonders if he'll be able to explain this to Yaku and Bokuto later. Now that the three of them are in university together they’ve turned into an unlikely gossip group, and the other two are forever teasing him about his pussyfooting with Kenma. He's pretty sure Bokuto would come up with some ridiculous diagnosis for his situation like... like dick-insecurity, or something, and then Bokuto would nod solemnly while Yaku did his silent shaking laugh that was like a kettle boiling over.

He absolutely can't tell them.

"Not yet," he tells Kenma softly. Kenma is still holding his hand—but he sets it down at Tetsurou's rejection and flops onto Tetsurou's mattress, turning onto his side away from Tetsurou. To add insult to injury, he pulls out his phone and pretends to be busy with something. It's strange behavior even for Kenma, and it means that something else is up—but Tetsurou doesn't ask. He doesn't want Kenma to tell him it's his fault somehow—for never letting him give blowjobs, for never doing anything more risky than grinding or a handjob or giving oral rather than receiving it.

 _I'm sorry,_ Tetsurou wants to say. _I don't want to mess up_.

It sounds stupid even in his head. He wants to do more—wants to do everything—but he doesn't want to settle for some dorm room quickie while his roommate is out on a date. He doesn't want a rushed first time, and every time an opportunity to take their time crops up Tetsurou is too nervous to act on it, too unsure of how to approach it.

How do you even ask someone _do you have to take a shit_ in preparation for sex? It's impossible. He'll never ask Kenma that. It’s the least romantic thing he’s ever heard, but essential if they’re going to do anal. Furthermore, when it comes to blowjobs, Tetsurou’s not planning on letting Kenma’s face get anywhere near his dick while he isn’t one hundred and thirty percent sure Kenma is as in love with him as he is with Kenma. Dicks just aren’t anyone’s best angle; they have to belong to someone you’re really, really into. At least, he’s pretty sure that’s how it works, however much his dick would like to get acquainted with Kenma’s face.

 _You’re not ruining my chances for me_ , he thinks down at his crotch. If his dick thinks anything of it, it gives him the silent treatment, just like Kenma is doing at the moment; he’s estranging both of them with his perfectionism.

Maybe he will tell Yaku and Bokuto about this when the volleyball gossip group meets up again.

 

* * *

  

“He was asking you to?” Bokuto’s voice is clinical despite the fact that he’s asked three times before. They’re in the student union, a soft hubbub of noise around them—pencils scratching, low conversations, clattering plates in the nearby coffee shop.

“ _Yes_ ,” Tetsurou says. How is this so hard for Bokuto to understand?

“To suck your dick.”

Tetsurou can’t care less that they’re in public and apparently neither can Bokuto. If Yaku were here he’d be shushing them, but Yaku is late. Tetsurou doesn’t look forward to explaining the whole thing again when he arrives. “Yes,” he says.

“And you said no.”

Tetsurou groans, letting his face fall into his hands. “You know what dicks look like! I didn’t want to be all up in his face!”

If Yaku were here, he’d be laughing—but when Tetsurou looks up at Bokuto Bokuto’s face is set in a mask of genuine worry.

“Is there something… wrong with it?” he asks in a hushed tone. “You know, curves and stuff can be worked with, and if you have a skin condition—”

“ _No!_ ” Tetsurou says. A girl two tables over jerks up in her seat, and at that moment Yaku appears across the room, maneuvering past couches with a thermos in his hand. He sits down with them, looking first at Bokuto’s sincere worry then Tetsurou’s red face.

“So,” Yaku says.

“So,” Tetsurou echoes.

“What did I interrupt?”

Bokuto looks ready to answer, and Tetsurou decides it’s best if he’s the one to inform Yaku of the situation. “Bokuto was asking me if I had dick acne,” he says shortly, then lets Yaku in on the rest of the story.

Yaku and Bokuto exchange a look.

“It’s okay if you’re not ready,” Yaku says hesitantly. “You know, guys are supposed to always be up for sex but sometimes they’re… not.”

“I _am_ up for sex,” Tetsurou says. “It just needs to be good sex, and I don’t know if I’m in a position to provide that.”

Bokuto pats his arm, but Yaku begins to look—condescending. Like he’s considered something Tetsurou hasn’t.

“What?” Tetsurou asks.

“No, it’s better if it occurs to you naturally,” Yaku says, waving a hand. If he were just a little taller Tetsurou might have kicked him.

“What?” Tetsurou asks again, eyes narrowed.

Yaku sighs. “Look—I get that you’re the cool former team captain and everything, and really tall, but have you ever considered you might be coming at this from the wrong angle?”

Tetsurou frowns. What does his being tall have to do with anything?

Yaku glances around, leaning in. Bokuto and Tetsurou lean in instinctively.

“Just because you’re tall doesn’t mean you have to be on top,” Yaku says quietly. His cheeks are flushed, but he seems to be steeling himself to say all this. “Maybe if you stopped seeing Kenma as some storybook princess you have to woo and bed or whatever, you’d stop having this problem. This is an equal relationship, right?”

Tetsurou groans into his hands again, his face flaming. It’s not that he’s never considered this—but the idea of Kenma taking charge, _really_ taking charge, is unthinkable. Still, just the suggestion of it makes his skin ached to be touched. The thought of Kenma wanting him like that makes him twitch with want, need.

Yaku mistakes his embarrassment. “I thought you’d be above that macho stuff—”

“I am,” Tetsurou manages, flinging out a hand to halt Yaku’s words. “I really, really am.”

He looks at Bokuto for solidarity and Bokuto pats his shoulder on cue, smiling sympathetically. At least he’s no longer flinging dick acne accusations around.

“But Kenma’s never going to be up for that,” Tetsurou says, looking back at Yaku. “You know how he is.”

“I don’t know what he’s like _in bed_ ,” Yaku says—and then his nose wrinkles. “Well, I know more than I should thanks to you. But what someone’s like from day to day doesn’t really tell you anything about them. You know my oldest sister?”

Tetsurou nods, though he doesn’t know much about her. She’s warm, he thinks, less rule-oriented than Yaku. That was the impression he got from his decidedly limited interactions.

“Bondage,” Yaku says. He shrugs. “I wasn’t meant to find out, and every day I regret that I did, but there you have it.”

Tetsurou nods slowly, trying not to imagine Yaku’s sister in leather. His thoughts shift— _no, don’t imagine Kenma in leather either_ —and he drums his fingers on the table, trying to bring his mind back to the present.

Still—“There’s no way,” he says. “About Kenma, I mean. And how would I even bring it up?”

Bokuto looks at him sternly. “Didn’t you say communication was the key to a good relationship?”

“Yeah, but Kenma and I have the silent communication thing. I can tell what he’s thinking half the time. I don’t really know how to ask when I don’t know something.”

“Then learn,” Yaku says mercilessly. “Bokuto’s right. You said that, and you said it while you were bragging about how perfect your relationship was. Do you want to prove your past self wrong?”

“My relationship _is_ perfect,” Tetsurou mutters, but his friends have a point. He did say those things, and lately he hasn’t followed his own advice. He cares about Kenma more than anything. He can’t afford to make stupid assumptions, or to let distance creep in between them over something as silly as performance anxiety.

“I’ll think about it,” he tells them.

“And if you do have dick acne,” Yaku says seriously, “it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“You—I can’t believe—”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. It’s unnecessary for him to; there’s no way it would be heard over Bokuto’s laughter, anyway.

 

* * *

  

Resolving to do something and doing it are two different things. Usually, Tetsurou is a do-er—whether it’s embarrassing situations like begging Taketora’s teacher not to suspend him from volleyball club or simple stuff like reorganizing an old storeroom. Tetsurou can usually find some kind of calm within himself and draw from it, find the best solution—but that wellspring of calm is pretty much gone when it comes to romance, and Tetsurou wonders how much better he’d be at this whole thing if he didn’t care so much.

Kenma is smart, funny, sensitive. Tetsurou loves his soft-voiced insights, his habits, the glances he sends. Loving Kenma is as natural as breathing.

If only the technical aspect came as easily to him.

Still, he has a good feeling about his trip home for the first long weekend in October. The leaves are thick on the ground, and fall hangs heavy in the air. It smells like decay, but Tetsurou imagines growing things inside of that thick scent as he gets off the train near his house.

Kenma is waiting for him on the platform. He’s not looking at the PSP in his hands; it dangles loosely while Kenma glances at the passengers disembarking. When his eyes land on Tetsurou, Tetsurou’s heart does that awful flippy thing that’s halfway between pleasurable and nauseating, though he doesn’t let it show. He walks over to Kenma in long strides and throws an arm around him, guides him to the stairs.

His limbs feel light. His breath is short. Being near Kenma even after a week’s separation sets his sluggish nerves firing at twice their usual speed until he’s jittery as hell.

“Miss me?” he asks Kenma as they descend the stairs.

“Hm,” Kenma says, smiling up. “How are Yaku and Bokuto?”

Tetsurou manages not to flinch; the whole dickne accusation thing has become a running joke. “They’re terrible. Graduate fast.”

“I will,” Kenma says. His hands fidget with his collar, and Tetsurou realizes he’s in his uniform under his winter jacket—which is normal, usually, but suddenly it’s strange. That uniform is distance between them—a year’s worth of distance, to be exact. Tetsurou’s not sure if it’s nostalgic or disconcerting. Will he miss the sight of Kenma in his uniform after he graduates?

“Lev and Inuoka are burning themselves out competing with each other,” Kenma offers. He knows how much Tetsurou loves team updates; Tetsurou no longer has to ask for them. “They’re both getting really, really good. It’s exhausting.”

“And your successor?”

“Having a successor is exhausting too.” Kenma looks up at Tetsurou, expression woeful. “He calls me _senpai_.”

Tetsurou tries not to laugh. “Have you told him not to?”

“I have, but it just slips out. And whenever I complain to Shouyou Shouyou is too jealous that someone is calling me senpai to be sympathetic. It’s awful.”

They step out of the station and into the street, Tetsurou’s heart full. His arm around Kenma’s shoulders is starting to feel natural, and his proximity to Kenma is no longer causing all his limbs to tingle.

“Will I ever get to meet him?” Tetsurou asks.

“No,” Kenma says. “I’m not letting you near him. He thinks you’re a legend for getting Nekoma where you did last year.”

Tetsurou grins. “A legend.” He likes the sound of that.

“That reminds me,” Kenma says, and though his face is neutral Tetsurou can feel him straightening slightly, the change betraying more interest than Kenma wants to show. “There’s something I want to show you tonight.”

“Oh?” Tetsurou would have made an _is-it-your-penis_ joke if the subject of penises wasn’t so fraught right now.

Kenma nods. “A movie I liked. We can watch it before bed.”

“Okay,” Tetsurou says. He feels that all-encompassing happiness again, his awareness centered around the current moment: the smell of the air, the feel of Kenma next to him, the excitement in his belly at the thought of a night spent together. _My relationship is perfect_ , he’d told his friends, draping himself over their shoulders and gloating.

He’d been telling the truth. 

 

* * *

 

 

Staying at Kenma’s house is just as natural as loving him. He even has clothes there, several sets of clothes, and Kenma’s parents never bat an eye when he stays over. Kenma’s dad wishes him a friendly goodnight when he passes Tetsurou in the hallway after Tetsurou’s shower, and Tetsurou responds in kind.

It’s as natural as breathing.

Tetsurou’s hair is still damp as he steps into Kenma’s room, and he rubs a towel over it halfheartedly as he pulls the door closed behind him. Kenma is sitting with his back against the bed, the TV already on and paused. Kenma has showered already, and everything about him looks soft and inviting: soft T-shirt, soft shorts.

Tetsurou swallows and sits down next to him, puts an arm around him just as he did at the station. He likes being allowed to pull Kenma close like this, and Kenma never tells him not to.

“What are we watching?” he asks.

“ _Legendary Hero_ ,” Kenma says, and Tetsurou laughs.

“Sounds kind of cheesy. Is it a videogame movie?”

“Not exactly.” Kenma grabs the remote, presses play. “You’ll see.”

The movie begins. It’s some sort of historical fantasy thing with fairly low production value. The acting is subpar, though the main character is _really_ attractive. Maybe they spent their entire budget hiring someone that attractive. He has long black hair, a delicate face, a certain sort of incorruptible look about him. Attractive Young Hero is meant to cleanse the land of some sort of plague that turns people into lustful monsters.

“You thought I should see this?” Tetsurou asks doubtfully as Young Good-looking Hero sets out on a journey. He spots a cave and begins to explore it.

“Mm.”

Young Hero encounters another man in… strange clothing. He seems to be coming onto Young Hero.

 _This is really gay_ , Tetsurou thinks, amused by the thought until he realizes—way too late—that gay is exactly what this is. The cave demon’s conversation with Young Hero—and his harness-like get-up—removes any trace of doubt Tetsurou might have had.

They’re watching gay porn.

He’s suddenly very aware of his body—the arm draped around Kenma, the way he’s sitting with his back against the bed, his legs out in front of him. His body is heavy and unwieldy and he’s not sure what to do with it.

 _Make a joke_ , he tells himself, but if he says something now it’ll be obvious he didn’t realize this was gay porn until embarrassingly late; he should have realized in under five minutes. This movie isn’t _filmed_ like a historical fantasy. For one thing, the camera spends too much time showcasing Young Hero’s body as he moves.

Tetsurou swallows as the scene starts—Young Hero and cave demon drawing close, cave demon’s hands sliding down between them.

_Oh god. Oh god. Oh god._

He can’t keep quiet. “ _I_ should see this?” he says, his voice much higher than usual. He’s watched porn—plenty of porn, though he prefers erotic books—but never _with_ someone.

“Mm. Just keep watching. Unless you want to stop?”

The movement of cave demon’s hands draws Tetsurou’s gaze. For a badly-acted porn movie with a horrible plot this scene is surprisingly sensual, and Tetsurou feels his body responding, though the arousal mixes with embarrassment. That embarrassment lessens a bit when he sees Kenma press a hand against his crotch.

Okay. So Kenma is getting a hard-on too. This is a weird couples activity but Tetsurou trusts it has some point.

“Just curious,” he says, and this time his voice doesn’t sound like it only barely managed to squeak past his tight vocal chords. He swallows the spit in his mouth, feels his body grow sluggish with the arousal coursing through him. The actors on screen move like they know each other’s bodies already, like they know just what to do with each other but still can’t wait to do it. Impatience and longing follow arousal until Tetsurou is ready to twitch with it. Every minute is torture. Sweet torture—but torture nonetheless.

 _Don’t touch yourself_ , Tetsurou thinks harshly. _Whatever you do, don’t touch yourself_.

His cock is fully hard, begging for attention. He’s never wanted to jerk off this badly.

A sound breaks through the haze of his arousal—the sound of Kenma grabbing the remote again. When Young Hero sits thoroughly debauched on cave demon’s cock, cave demon’s harness askew, Kenma pauses the movie.

Tetsurou swallows again, feels his heartbeat throb in his erection. His breathing is short and sharp, and it loses all rhythm when Kenma moves to sit in his lap.

He looks up, not sure what to say. Could he come if Kenma just twitched against him once, maybe twice? He wants to grab him, move him, but he’s not an animal.

“You want to, right?” Kenma says. His voice is small but very clear in the silence.

Tetsurou nods slowly, trying to make sense of his thoughts. _You want to_. Kenma means sex, not just grinding up against each other.

“I do, but I’m not sure how,” Tetsurou says. Either the lack of blood in his brain is making him honest or he really was ready to be open with Kenma. “I want to make it good.”

“You’ve done it before,” Kenma says.

“With a girl. And if I was bad at something she just told me. What if I’m bad at something?”

There’s so much stuff online about how to give a good blowjob; much less about the way to have actually satisfying anal sex, beyond using tons of lube and trying things out. His tongue is about a thousand times more agile than his cock, and he doesn’t _want_ to try things out. He wants everything to be amazing the first time—for Kenma to remember for the rest of his life how good Tetsurou was.

It’s a pretty ridiculous want, he’ll concede that much.

“Then how about I make it good?” Kenma says. Tetsurou’s breath stutters. Is this—is this what Yaku had talked about?

“Yeah?” Tetsurou says. His voice sounds smug. He doesn’t _feel_ smug.

“You can be him,” Kenma says, pointing at Young Hero. It does look like a pretty good role; there’s a flush down Young Hero’s chest and his cock looks full to bursting as he impales himself on cave demon’s erection. There isn’t a whisper of pain in his face, or if there is it’s the good kind.

“I can be him,” Tetsurou echoes. His cheeks are flushed. He can’t believe Kenma is suggesting this. “What’s gotten into you?”

Kenma blinks. “I’ve always been like this. Though I guess…” He trails off.

“What?”

“I guess I get kind of insecure with you gone all the time. Makes me not want to take my time with things. I want you.”

It could be a porny statement right out of _Legendary Hero_ , but Kenma doesn’t say it like that: he says it plainly, like it’s fact and not a compliment. _I want you._

“You have me,” Tetsurou says, one hand coming up to cup Kenma’s face, the peach fuzz of Kenma’s jaw soft against his palm. Kenma has had him for a long time.

Kenma smiles, and it goes straight through him. “That’s good to hear,” Kenma says, leaning forward. His lips press against Tetsurou’s; his tongue flicks out against Tetsurou’s bottom lip, and when Tetsurou opens his mouth Kenma presses inward, tongue and mouth and hands greedy. It’s one of those all-consuming kisses, made urgent by the grind of Kenma’s erection against his. Tetsurou shivers, twitches, lets out the tiniest noise of pleasure. Kenma’s tongue demands more, more. Kenma’s hands are in his hair, his chest against his chest. He smells like the scent that’s uniquely _Kenma_ , mixed with the shampoo they both used tonight. Tetsurou wants to lose himself in it.

He jerks up as Kenma bites his neck. A moan fills his throat, but he doesn’t let it escape; it’s embarrassing to think of Kenma hearing it, somehow worse than the mutual harsh breathing when they jerk each other off. He lets his hands move under Kenma’s shirt, caressing his hip bones then moving up, pushing the shirt up until Kenma raises his arms and lets him pull it off entirely.

 _You’re so beautiful_. The words stick in Tetsurou’s throat; he lets his hands speak for him. Kenma lets him for a moment, continuing their kiss, but then he’s pushing up Tetsurou’s shirt, pulling it off, ducking to kiss along Tetsurou’s collarbones. His teeth graze Tetsurou’s skin, his fingers at the waistband of Teturou’s pajama pants. He won’t get them off while sitting on him; he seems to be teasing.

“Bed,” Tetsurou says. Kenma lets him move, and Tetsurou pulls himself onto the edge of the bed—but Kenma remains kneeling, hands firm on Tetsurou’s sides. He kisses Tetsurou’s abs, descends, and Tetsurou makes a noise of discomfort.

“Kenma—”

“I like your dick, okay?” Kenma says, the words very sudden—but like they’ve been true for a long time. “It’s a really nice one. Just because I haven’t seen it close up doesn’t mean I haven’t seen it. I like every part of you.”

A shiver goes down Tetsurou’s spine, and he has to admit that the movement of Kenma’s hand along the bulge in his pants is loving, not perfunctory.

“How do you know I’m not just worried it’ll blind you with—” oh god, he can’t say it, but he has to, he has to make light of this “—with its brilliance?”

“Bokuto texted me,” Kenma says, his voice very neutral.

“ _What?_ ”

“He said I should make you feel better about your body, and he was right.” Kenma looks up. He’s kneeling, his hands on Tetsurou’s hips, his stomach against Tetsurou’s tented pants. “I forget you’re not as confident as you look sometimes. Don’t blame Bokuto for reminding me.”

Tetsurou grimaces. It’s so typical of Bokuto to do this: tease him to his face but sincerely ask Kenma to work on his confidence behind the scenes. How genuinely good Bokuto is gets to Tetsurou sometimes, and this is one of those times. The fact that that goodness took the shape of Bokuto telling Kenma to compliment Tetsurou’s dick more hardly seems to matter.

“I can’t believe him,” Tetsurou mumbles, though he can.

Kenma doesn’t seem to be listening anymore. His tongue licks at the dip by Tetsurou’s hipbone, and Tetsurou fists a hand in the blankets behind him. When Kenma looks up, brows arched in question, Tetsurou gives the smallest nod.

He keeps his eyes pinned to Kenma’s face as Kenma pulls at the waistband of his pants, pulling them down just enough to bare Tetsurou’s erection. He wants to look away, anticipating some look of—boredom, maybe, or obligation. But Kenma doesn’t look bored at all—his tongue flicks out to wet his bottom lip—and then he looks up at Tetsurou.

 _See?_ that look says, but Tetsurou isn’t sure what he’s meant to see, and then Kenma is leaning forward, mouth soft and wet against the head of Tetsurou’s cock. Tetsurou’s breath shudders out of him.

Kenma’s eyes close for a moment, but then they dart up to look at Tetsurou with another look of _see?_ and Tetsurou wonders how bad it would be to just come right here, now, after no time at all of Kenma’s mouth on him.

Maybe Kenma reads his thoughts, because after a soul-shattering dip of his head, coating Tetsurou’s dick in spit, he gets up off his knees and pushes Tetsurou down against the mattress, climbing between his legs. Tetsurou wonders if it would be lechy to tell him how good he looks there. He lets Kenma pull his bottoms off, gasping a little when Kenma surges forward again to cup his ass, lifting him off the bed slightly.

“I feel… really naked,” Tetsurou manages. His cock is on full display, laying flat and thick against his abdomen with the way he’s tilted.

“You look really naked,” Kenma says. His eyes meet Tetsurou’s, and a smile plays about his lips. “It’s a good look for you.”

Tetsurou groans. “Have you always been like this?”

“That’s what I keep trying to tell you.” Kenma places his hand against the underside of Tetsurou’s erection, the pressure curiously grounding. “I wasn’t sure you wanted this. Maybe you didn’t want to do it with a guy.”

Shock trickles through Tetsurou. _Maybe you didn’t want to do it with a guy_. That’s awfully close to _maybe you didn’t want to do it with me_. Has Kenma been worried about that?

“That’s not the case,” Tetsurou says. He slides his butt back a bit, sits up and holds Kenma’s face, kisses the side of his mouth. “Just fuck me already?”

Kenma laughs in that small, shoulder-shocky way, his eyes bright. “You kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“I kiss your dick with it too. Should I watch my language?”

“Hm, no. But maybe you can say it again? Make your voice deep…”

“ _Just fuck me already_ ,” Tetsurou says, voice bottom-of-a-pit low and porny as hell. Kenma laughs harder, and when Tetsurou grabs him and kisses him Kenma kisses back hard, hands tugging at his hair.

“Okay,” Kenma says, pulling back, and he reaches for something in his bedside cabinet. He throws the tube he pulls out onto the bed and continues their kiss, pushing Tetsurou into the mattress again. He pauses to pull his shorts down some, baring himself so they can rub together as they kiss, and Tetsurou groans. It’s not like Kenma’s never taken charge before, but Tetsurou has always assumed—what? That it was insincere? That he was doing him a favor?

He’s so caught up in the kissing and rubbing that he’s surprised when he feels Kenma’s fingers slick against him suddenly. He glances, sees the bottle of lube lying open, one glistening drop at the tip; Kenma used it one-handed.

“How’d you get so good at this?” Tetsurou asks, distracted. Kenma’s finger is pressed right where it needs to go; if Tetsurou had been trying to find someone’s asshole in the half-dark without looking there would be lube smeared everywhere.

“Done it to myself,” Kenma says easily. His fingertip slips inside, and the unexpected pleasure of it makes Tetsurou’s dick throb. He likes being fingered; who knew? Certainly not him.

 _Done it to myself_ , his mind repeats, working slowly. He blinks. Kenma. Has fingered himself. Often enough to get good at it. The image that produces is—something.

It’s really something. He thrusts up against Kenma, wanting to relieve the coil of tension inside of him that has a lot to do with the image of Kenma finger-fucking himself. Kenma pushes him down, his finger going deep. Tetsurou’s breathing is hard, keen.

“I’ve thought of you,” Kenma says. “A lot.”

“I’m honored,” Tetsurou says, smiling—and though his voice sounds sarcastic, he’s being totally serious. He realizes how stupid he’s been: thinking Kenma isn’t as into him as he is into Kenma, thinking he was the only one pushing in this relationship. Why didn’t he notice Kenma pushing back just as hard? “I, uh, same. Not like this, but same.”

“You’re saying you jerk off to me?” Kenma asks. He, at least, doesn’t sound surprised.

“Constantly.”

Kenma splutters a laugh, slides in another finger to shut him up. It works, especially when Kenma curves those fingers slightly. Tetsurou wriggles, trying to find the spot where he felt a shock of pleasure that seemed to run all the way from inside of him to the tip of his erection. It was shaky but there.

“Tetsurou.”

The name is so unexpected that he almost looks around trying to find who said it. He looks up at Kenma. “What?” he asks, his lungs curiously empty. _Breathless_. That’s what it’s called, breathless.

Kenma shrugs. “I just wanted to say it. Try saying it, I mean.” He inclines his head; his fingers scissor. “Tetsu-chan.”

Tetsurou’s body responds to the names even as he tells it not to. This is embarrassing. “If you don’t watch out I’m always going to associate you saying my given name with having your fingers up my ass.”

“Tetsurou. Tetsurou. Tetsurou.”

Tetsurou groans, laughing, and then Kenma’s fingers find that spot again—the one that makes all of him feel on edge, everything connected, nerves buzzing. The laughter dies in his throat and his eyes close. He floats at the threshold of a great _something_.

When he opens his eyes Kenma is looking down at him, his expression very soft—wistful, almost. His cheeks color when he sees Tetsurou looking.

“What?” Tetsurou asks.

Kenma shakes his head. Tetsurou sits up, smoothes Kenma’s hair along the sides of his face.

“What?” he asks again.

“It’s hard to explain,” Kenma says, his head ducking. His voice says _don’t ask me more_ , and so Tetsurou doesn’t—but he does maneuver them both and push so it’s Kenma who’s lying down against the mattress.

“I’m ready, right?” Tetsurou says doubtfully as Kenma grabs a tissue to wipe off his hand. Kenma’s back arches beautifully to accomplish the gesture, and Tetsurou swallows when he looks at Kenma’s erection rigid as the rest of his body moves. _Sit there_ , he thinks, looking at it, and then his eyes move to the TV where Young Hero still sits impaled on cave demon, face rapturous. Tetsurou’s erection throbs in response, though he’s not sure what he’s responding to—the image on the TV or the anticipation of Kenma inside him.

“I think so,” Kenma says. “Do we… should…”

Tetsurou waits.

“Should we use a condom?”

Tetsurou blinks. “I don’t care. I don’t have anything to pass onto you.”

“No, then?”

“No,” Tetsurou says, glancing at the TV again. The main character of _Legendary Hero_ is supposed to cleanse the land by collecting monsters’ cum, the conversation with the cave demon revealed. Tetsurou doesn’t have any land to cleanse, but the thought of Kenma spilling inside of him is—

 _God_. He hadn’t even known he had that kink, but there it is. He’ll never tell anyone, not even Yaku or Bokuto.

“Then…”

Kenma’s voice is unsure, and Tetsurou finds that a lot of his nervousness is gone. He wants this. Kenma wants this. He grabs the lube and uses it liberally, enjoying Kenma’s twitching when he feels the cold against his cock.

“You could have warmed it,” Kenma says resentfully.

“I could have,” Tetsurou agrees, smug. He likes Kenma twitching beneath him. It reminds him he has some control at least, even if he can’t control his body’s urges and wants. He feels the absence of Kenma’s fingers, a strange sense of emptiness that longs to be filled up again, and it makes him feel not _dirty_ exactly but… something close to it. Someone who longs to take and take. He wipes off his fingers, positions himself over Kenma.

Slowly, he lowers himself down. Kenma is biting his lip, and experimentally Tetsurou lifts up slightly around Kenma’s tip, producing a mewl.

Okay, maybe he does feel dirty—but only in the good way.

He sinks down, feels Kenma push up. Kenma was right: he is ready. The strangeness of having something shoved up his ass is outweighed by the fact that it’s Kenma inside of him. He wants to take everything and more.

He starts to move, longing for that buzzing thrill. Kenma’s eyes are closed, back arched. “Kuro—”

“Yes?” He sounds smug. He _is_ smug, he thinks.

“If you think I’m going to let you take control this whole time, you’re wrong.” Kenma’s voice is strained.

“Oh?” Tetsurou says. He’d expected _you feel so good_ or _I love you_ but Kenma’s attempt at a threatening tone is much, much better.

Kenma’s eyes slit open. His cheeks are flushed. _Dirty_ , Tetsurou thinks again, beginning to like the thought of that word. What’s so bad about being dirty? Kenma glares, taps Tetsurou’s leg. “This one, up over me.”

Tetsurou does as he’s told, unable to resist the note of command in Kenma’s voice. Kenma repositions them, moving Tetsurou so he’s lying on his stomach on the bed. When they’re in position, Kenma thrusts from behind once, hard.

Tetsurou jerks, feeling precum leak a stain into the blankets beneath him. His nerves jangle.

Kenma had hit the spot, seemingly without even trying.

“That was…” Tetsurou tries.

“It,” Kenma supplies. “Wasn’t it?”

“Mm.”

Kenma leans down as he begins to move, all the urgency from earlier transformed into a slow, deliberate rhythm. He trails kisses along Tetsurou’s spine and shoulder blades—kisses that turn into soft, sharp little nips.

“Tetsurou,” Kenma says in a sigh. “Tetsurou.”

Tetsurou shudders. “Never call me that in public. I’ll get a hard-on from it, now.”

“Mm,” Kenma says. He reaches around to grip Tetsurou’s leaking cock, timing his caresses with his thrusts. Tetsurou feels full—too full, almost. He feels like he might come apart at any minute, and he clenches his jaw against the moans that want to escape him. _Fuck._

“It’s okay,” Kenma whispers against his spine. “You can come if you want.”

Tetsurou huffs a laugh. “I’m allowed to?”

“If you don’t I might be in trouble.” Kenma’s voice is strange—caught between laughter and strain. “I don’t think I’ll last. You feel…”

He trails off, and Tetsurou jerks into his hand. _You feel amazing_. Kenma doesn’t have to say it. _You feel amazing too_ , he thinks at Kenma—that caressing hand, his cock filling him up—

Kenma’s breath stutters, and his thrusts become harder, sharper, hitting the sweet spot over and over again. Tetsurou bites into the pillow to keep from moaning as shocks travel through his body—waves of it, first focusing inside of him and then spreading outward. He sees white behind his eyelids as Kenma pushes him forcefully past his climax.

 _Fuck_ , Tetsurou thinks—coming up to the high, at the high, coming down from the high. He feels just as debauched as Young Hero looked on TV astride his demon.

It feels incredible.

Kenma’s thrusts are beginning to lose power—he strains inside of Tetsurou, spills out inside of him—and then he collapses. His breathing is harsh.

Tetsurou feels replete, warm, satisfied. But also like he wants to fuck about ten more times tonight to make up for lost time. He tries to make a list of everything he wants to do to Kenma and have Kenma do to him.

Twenty more times tonight, maybe, since he can’t fit all the things he wants into ten. They can pause now and then for snacks.

“Kuro…” Kenma’s breath gusts against his back, drawing him back to the present.

“Yeah?”

“You’re amazing.”

Tetsurou laughs. “Really?”

“Yeah. Everything about you. I wish we were the same year.”

There’s a strange note in Kenma’s voice, and Tetsurou turns just a little. “Hey. What’s this?”

They move together, and then it’s Tetsurou lying on his back and Kenma lying in his arms. Kenma’s breath leaves him in a long sigh.

“I miss you,” he says.

“Don’t,” Tetsurou says, tucking Kenma’s hair back behind his ear. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“That better be true.”                                                                                  

Tetsurou glances over at the TV, remembering Young Hero and his ridiculous quest. “It is. I need to collect all your cum and cleanse the land of evil.”

Kenma laughs against his chest, slim body shocking. They smell like sex, somehow, even though it’s just sweat causing the smell. How does sex smell different from regular exercise when the smell is basically just sweat? Maybe it’s the ache inside your body, the unshakable awareness of how close you just were to another person.

“I see you liked _Legendary Hero_ ,” Kenma says, nodding at the TV.

“I’m never admitting to that. How do you find these things?”

“Stuff online. A lot of people recommended this one, and the people in it are actually good-looking and look like they enjoy themselves.”

“Are you still playing indecent games?”

“Tons of them. You want to play one together sometime?”

“Hm,” Tetsurou says, not committing. He lets his fingers drag up and down Kenma’s back, thinking about Kenma missing him and Kenma saying he feels insecure with him gone all the time. It seems absurd.

“I don’t feel this way about anyone else,” he says at last, shifting to look down at Kenma; he can only see the top of his head and his nose, but he has to say it clearly. He doesn’t want Kenma to ever feel lonely or insecure. “I don’t think I ever could.”

“Good,” Kenma says.

“I don’t mean just sex,” Tetsurou says.                                        

“I know.” Kenma shifts, meets his gaze. “If you wanted sex you could get it from anyone.”

“Not _anyone_ ,” Tetsurou says, embarrassed. His body still feels spent and warm. “And who else is going to show me quality porn beforehand?”

Kenma smiles, but Tetsurou still sees a shadow behind it. He shifts, grabs Kenma’s chin between thumb and forefinger and forces him to look him in the eye.

“I love you,” he says.

Kenma’s eyes slide from his, but his cheeks color. “And we can have sex whenever?”

“All the time,” Tetsurou says. “Constantly.”

“You were really that nervous?” Kenma says. “Just… about the first time?”

“I’d pretty much die if you were bored while we had sex,” Tetsurou says, grimacing. “That’s my nightmare. I have my pride, you know.”

“You were that sure I wouldn’t like it?”

“I guess I felt like I tricked you into liking me somehow,” Tetsurou says. “Like, how much I liked you just got pushed over onto you. I hate the thought of you just going along with things for my sake. I want you to love me too.”

“I do,” Kenma says. Again, the words are unsentimental: a statement of plain fact.

“I guess I believe you,” Tetsurou says. He shifts so they’re both on their sides looking at each other. “You’ll have to prove it to me. Often.”

“Okay.”

Kenma sits up. His hair is messy, sticking to his face on one side and standing straight on edge at the back. Tetsurou has to quash the urge to grab him and push him into the mattress, kiss him until he’s breathless. Kenma’s nose wrinkles.

“I need to clean up a little,” he says. He looks at the stain of Tetsurou’s cum on the bedspread. “And put a towel down.”

Tetsurou feels a shiver of nerves in his belly—though why he isn’t sure. “And then?”

Kenma blinks. “And then we continue watching _Legendary Hero_.”

Tetsurou’s cheeks color. Watching more porn is almost sure to lead to more sex, which is just fine with him. His body aches from what they’ve done already, but it’s a sweet ache, and he wouldn’t mind that ache growing throughout the night. “You’re sure?”

“We have to know whether our young hero cleanses the land, don’t we?” Kenma says. “I thought you were invested in the story.”

“Oh, I am,” Tetsurou says, trying to keep his face serious. “Very.”

Kenma leaves, and Tetsurou takes the time to wipe himself off and pull some clothes on. His body feels different, like it knows what he’s done—but if the warm glow is anything to go by it totally approves of his actions. He thinks of how good it is to let go, to lose himself in something—someone.

Not that he feels lost.

Kenma returns eventually, looking slightly less disheveled and holding snacks. He sits down next to Tetsurou, kisses his shoulder. His phone buzzes as he gets comfortable.

“Who’s that?” Tetsurou asks without urgency. He expects it to be a notification from some game.

“Yaku or Bokuto, probably,” Kenma says without looking. “I sent them a message saying your dick was a work of art while I was in the bathroom.”

Tetsurou’s stomach swoops. “You didn’t,” he says, but his voice is unsure.

“Didn’t I?” One of Kenma’s eyebrows rises ever so slightly. _Did he?_

“You didn’t,” Tetsurou says. He doesn’t sound any more sure than he did before. Would Kenma sending a message praising his dick be satisfying or mortifying? Both, probably.

At least it might stop the dickne jokes.

“I guess we’ll never know,” Kenma says, shrugging, and Tetsurou knows him well enough to spot the tiny satisfied smile on his lips. Still, the smile could mean anything. Tetsurou still doesn’t know whether he sent out that message, but he guesses he’ll find out in time; Yaku and Bokuto will let him know.

“We should continue the movie,” Kenma says. His eyes are bright. He leans against Tetsurou’s shoulder, looking pleased with himself.

“Okay,” Tetsurou says. He kisses Kenma’s unevenly dyed head, smells shampoo and homecoming.

On screen, _Legendary Hero_ resumes playing.


End file.
